He unlocked the door.
Magnus looked up from the small kitchen table. He had let himself in somehow. Yang didn't bother asking how. The Norwegian veteran sat with a cup of tea that had long gone cold, his pale face illuminated by the dim overhead light.
"You look terrible," Magnus said.
Yang didn't respond. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
"How did you get in?"
"I know the landlord." Magnus shrugged. "Also, you left your spare key under the mat. Terrible habit."
Yang almost smiled.
"What do you want?"
Magnus set down the cup. His expression shifted, the usual warmth dimming into something more serious.
"I heard you've been skipping meals. Skipping training. Zoning out during sessions." He paused. "I've been where you are, Yang. Not the same thing, but—close enough."
Yang slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor, his back against the wood.
"I injured him."
"I know."
"I might have ended his career."
"You don't know that yet."
